Considering these things, the king gave orders for a council of learned men to be called, in order that they might study the solution of his problem, and devise, if possible, some method by which his sons might be taught the lessons of morality and wisdom.
Among the wise men who were thus called together, there was a great philosopher named Vishnu-sārman[[231]] who understood the principles of ethics. He declared that as these young princes were born of good family there was still a hope of their reformation, and he offered to give them the necessary instruction.
His proposition was gladly accepted by the anxious father, and soon the class was called together on the roof of the palace to receive the instruction of the sage. The teacher decided to interest his listeners, and also to convey the lessons of morality by repeating fables. Therefore, with many wise admonitions, and carefully pointing the moral of each lesson, he told them the following stories:
THE PIGEONS AND THE RAT.
Near the Godāvarī river there stood a large Salmali tree, on which the birds found their nightly rest. One morning, when the darkness had just departed, leaving the moon—friend of the night flowers—still in his mansion, a raven who sat in the tree saw a fowler approaching like the genius of death, and he said to himself, “This morning an enemy appears, and I know not what poisonous fruit is ripening.” The fowler went on, however, fixing his net and scattering grains of rice. Soon a flock of pigeons, led by their prince Ćitāgriva, or painted neck, came flying that way. They saw the rice and were eagerly descending, when the leader counseled caution, for he feared a snare; but led away by their appetites, they all flew downward upon the rice, being followed, even by the leader, who was unwilling to desert the flock. In a moment more they were snared. But although covetousness had brought them into trouble, the leader counseled that a wise unity of action might even yet deliver them from it. He ordered that they should all fly together, and doing so, they raised the net and carried it along with them. They were followed by the fowler, who expected to see them soon fall into his power.
In a wood near by dwelt a rat, who was a friend of Ćitāgriva’s, and to him they directed their flight, coming down near his hole. The prisoned birds then besought him to gnaw the strings that held them. The rat replied that “to abandon our own is not the conduct of moralists. Let a man for the sake of relieving his distresses preserve his wealth; by his wealth let him preserve his wife, and by both wife and riches let him preserve himself.” “I am but weak,” said he, “and my teeth are small, but as long as they remain unbroken will I continue to cut thy strings.” And gnawing diligently[diligently] away, he severed their bonds and received them as guests.
Thus the sage taught the princes that “covetousness leads to lust, to anger, to fraud and illusion.” He taught also that the union, even of the small and the weak, is beneficial, and also that the humble friend who stands by us faithfully, in the hour of adversity, is of more value than the flatterers, who are watching for our prosperity, in order that they may absorb our gain.
THE ANTELOPE AND THE CROW.
In the country of Magādha there was a forest, in which an antelope and crow had long dwelt in friendship. The antelope was fat, and his flesh was greatly desired by a jackal, who sought to obtain it by gaining his confidence. Going to him, therefore, she pleaded for his friendship, saying, “I am friendless and alone like a dead creature, but having gained thy friendship I shall live again, and I will ever be thy servant,” and saying this, she slipped into his home under the branches of a tree, where dwelt the friendly crow. Then the crow inquired of the antelope, “Who is this comrade of thine?” And the antelope replied, “It is a jackal who is my chosen friend.” “O my beloved,” said the crow, “it is not right to place thy confidence with too much celerity.” But in vain the faithful bird pleaded with the infatuated antelope, who still listened eagerly to the flatteries of the jackal, until the aggrieved and disgusted friend flew away to another part of the wood.
“My beloved antelope,” said the jackal one day in her softest and sweetest tones, “at one side of the wood is a field of corn, I will take thee there.” The antelope found the corn rich and tender, and going there he fed freely. The owner of the corn perceived his loss as the wily jackal had anticipated, and he spread a strong net there, wherein the antelope was captured. The jackal crept softly near, saying to herself, “It has befallen as I wished, and soon I shall satisfy my appetite on his tender flesh.” As soon as the antelope perceived his false friend he was glad, for he anticipated deliverance by the gnawing of his bonds. The jackal examined the net, and congratulating herself that it was strong, she said, “Oh, my beloved, I cannot do it to-day, but to-morrow I will come and deliver thee,” and going away, a short distance she awaited for him to die in order that she might regale herself upon his flesh. The crow, however, in flying over the wood, saw the condition of his imprudent friend, and hastened to his side. “This,” said the antelope “is the consequence of rejecting friendly counsel. The man who listens not to the words of affectionate friends, will give joy in the moment of distress to his enemies.”